UNIQUE (A Powers Novel)

Ten

The shadows under the door kept me awake most of the night. All I could think about were Miller and Forrest's warnings. When Forrest arrives to take me to my first official round of testing, I'm dressed in the standard gray drawstring slacks, white shirt, and gray laceless boat shoes Paragon graciously provided me. I rub the sleep from my eyes as he tapes electrodes on my temples and chest. Once it's completed, he leads the way into the hall. I slug along behind him. Exhaustion doesn't keep me from noticing the occupant of room 1112 step out into the hallway, freeze upon seeing us, and quickly goes back in, shutting the door. I frown as we continue the journey down the hall.

We get in the elevator, and Forrest swipes his badge, then punches in number 62. Research and Development. The elevator hums, and we're moving downward.

"Are you ready to get started?" Forrest asks.

"I am now," I say, watching the numbers slow as we reach our floor. The doors slide open.

This isn't the first time I've seen the R&D floor. Dad took me on a tour of the building before, and part of the tour was this department. It isn't the same now. Before I was a spectator. Now I'm an active participant.

And it doesn't fail to impress me.

Forrest walks me toward a door in a glass-panel wall, pulling it open. I step through, trembling.

The room itself a typical lab. Safety glass contamination areas on the outer edges of the chambers. The strong scent of industrial sterilizer. Pristine floors and walls and workstations. Tables of high-powered microscopes and holo-computers and tabletop centrifuges, boxes of solutions used to separate and test samples. And people in white lab coats. So many people are working in white lab coats along each row of tables. How many researchers work here?

Forrest guides me deeper into the belly of the floor, and there's a lightness in my chest with each bouncing step. I have to stuff my hands in my pockets to resist the urge to touch everything. Then my eyes shoot wide, and a dumb grin pulls across my face.

"Is that a cannonizer?" I ask, stepping off course toward it.

The cannonizer is a long steel tube—exactly twelve inches long—serving as an isolation chamber. On each end of the tube are injection ports—circular seals which open just wide enough to inject the cells for molecular manipulation. What I wouldn't give to stuff some of my cells in that tube and see if they change.

"Don't touch it," Forrest says, taking my shoulders and steering me back on track. "That equipment is worth more than—"

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter. "I know."

"Only senior researchers get to use it," Forrest says.

"So not you."

He doesn't answer.

We walk to an open workstation, and Forrest sits me down on the stool, then looks around the room.

"Where is he?" I can barely hear the mutter. "Stay put." Forrest flicks on the tablet and touch the screen, then look around the room again. "I'll be right back."

Forrest disappears around a row of tall workstations.

Stay put. Right.

My finger runs over the button on the microscope. A Micro-T5000. It's the best lens on the market. A glance up and down the table reveals one at every workstation. The centrifuges are top of the line as well, though for the tabletop version. I spin the stool around taking in everything.

And that's when I see it. The HFS 15000 rpm multi-operational refrigerated centrifuge. I'm drawn toward it, compelled from my seat and across the floor toward the large machine. The steel is cold. Colder than typical steel. The display panel lights up at my touch, and I suck in a breath. It's beautiful.